Scourge of the Seas
by Born with wings
Summary: Pirate Johnlock AU. Sherlock is a pirate, scourge of the seas, but he still has his honour, and he's going to catch Moriarty no matter what it takes.


**Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters**

Captain Sherlock Holmes had been in some interesting battles in his lifetime - he'd fought against an apparent 'ghost ship', engaged in a brutal war-dance with a fleet of three pirate ships at once, even escaped the entirety of the British Naval forces by disappearing into thin air - and this one was decidedly _boring._ He had been charmed at first by the rival captain's dedication to the battle but now the whole affair was getting tedious. If he would just lay down his sword and surrender, Sherlock would be able to plunder the other ship's resources and get on his way. But, despite the considerable loss of his men, the fellow refused to back down.

Sherlock sighed and lazily parried another of the captain's strikes, side-stepping a pool of scarlet blood as he did so. He glanced again at the parchment in his left hand, a petulant frown forming on his brow, increasingly annoyed at the letter's contents.

"I can't believe the cheek of it," he said, glancing over his shoulder at his quartermaster. "I'm not one of his under-paid skivvies, I shan't do as he says."

"Weren't you planning on going after Moriarty any way?" John shouted back over the clamour.

Sherlock frowned again, slashing his sword at his rival and nicking the man's cheek in the process. Blood arched through the air in a graceful curve and splattered onto the surface of his letter, obscuring his brother's neat signature with a bright splash of red. "Yes I was," Sherlock said petulantly, "but Mycroft's rather taken the fun out of it now." His brother, it seemed, had a knack for always knowing exactly what his plans were and how to foil them - it was a quality Sherlock particularly despised.

"Well I suppose we could forget about Moriarty and go back to Tahiti instead?" The battle was practically over now. Only the two captains remained fighting, posing impressive figures at the helm of the ship. Sherlock looked over at his quartermaster and felt a sharp flash of annoyance at the hopeful gleam in John's eye.

"We aren't going back to Tahiti John - honestly I have no idea what you see in that place." He landed another well placed blow against his opponent and the man's sword clattered to the deck with a ringing finality. "Finally," Sherlock muttered, struggling to keep his annoyance out of his voice, "you should have given up long ago. You could have saved some of your men."

The captain stared back at him silently and Sherlock couldn't help feeling a little impressed at the man's confidence. He bent down to retrieve the sword, watching it gleam in the bright sunlight reflecting off of the water. Briefly he considered returning it, as a mark of respect, but a glance at the carnage on the deck of his ship swiftly resolved his indecision. A man who didn't know when to retreat wasn't brave; he was stupid. If this captain had surrendered to Sherlock an hour ago, when the battle had turned in his favour, many of his men would not have so needlessly lost their lives.

Sherlock slid the sword into his belt, returning his own to his scabbard with an air of finality, and turned from the captain in disgust.

"Get him down to the brig John, then take a group of men over to his ship and see what you can salvage." He turned a critical eye to the other man's boat. "I don't think we shall be capturing his ship, so only items that will fit in our hold are worth taking."

John nodded and turned to complete his tasks, already shouting orders at Sherlock's crew.

"Oh and get Anderson up here will you?" Sherlock added as an after-thought, catching John before he disappeared below deck. "He needs to see to my ship."

He watched John move about his business with some satisfaction. The man was efficient, moving effortlessly on the rolling decks of the vessel. Already crewmen were sluicing blood off his deck and dumping the carcasses into the sea; soon more would be returning with the plundered treasure from the rival ship. It hadn't been a particularly interesting battle but it had certainly been an successful one. Still, the letter in his hand presented an intriguing problem and Sherlock needed to deal with it sooner rather than later.

With a reluctant sigh he turned to enter his cabin, intending to meditate on the decision. He didn't like to leave the crew to clean up after such a gruesome battle alone - after all the ship was ultimately a democracy and if the crew took a dislike to him they could easily vote him out of command - but the matter required his rather immediate attention. He passed Molly Hooper on his way to his quarters, dumping a dismembered body over the side of the ship. Blood bloomed in the water like flower petals as the body slid easily beneath the waves and Sherlock caught sight of a writhing mass of silver fish descending upon the flesh like wolves. He looked away in distaste.

"Keep some of the bodies aside Molly," he told her as he passed. She looked up in surprise. There was a small cut on her cheek, leaking fluid down her jaw, but otherwise she appeared unharmed. Sherlock was privately pleased that she wasn't hurt.

"The bodies Captain?" she asked, looking confused and uncertain. "Whatever do you want them for?"

"I haven't had a chance to experiment in a while; I've got a rather interesting theory on the activity of maggots that I want to explore."

"Maggots?" Molly's nose wrinkled in disgust but she dutifully noted Sherlock's request. "Oh and I was wondering when you would know what course I should set, the sea looks a little stormy to the East."

Sherlock glanced in the direction Molly had indicated but he couldn't see anything to suggest that a storm was coming. Still, his ship master had good judgement and he trusted her in these matters, so he simply nodded thoughtfully and adjusted their course slightly in his head. "Keep North-West for now then and I'll update you as soon as I make a new decision."

Molly nodded, turning back to the task of disposing of the bodies, and Sherlock took this as his cue to leave. Passing swiftly through the clamouring shapes of his crew he made his way over to his cabin, picking his way carefully over the bodies as he did so. Once he was inside he allowed himself to relax, unbuckling his belt and folding it carefully on his bed. The two swords winked at him in the dim light streaming through the porthole. Sherlock lit a candle even though it was the middle of the day and bent over the letter, deep in thought.

Mycroft had been getting bolder. Sherlock could stomach his intervention at the trial - when his brother had pulled some strings and the charges of piracy had been mysteriously dropped - but he certainly hadn't expected him to call in the favour quite so soon. Really, it was absurd! Surely the navy didn't need the help of a known pirate to track down the criminal Moriarty, wasn't theirs the finest fleet in the world? Sherlock snorted derisively. Besides, Mycroft didn't really expect Sherlock to simply pander to his whims - did he?

Of course there was the small issue of Sherlock's prior commitment to hunting the criminal down. If he abandoned the chase now simply because of a petty feud with his brother, he would look like a coward.

Sherlock sighed in frustration, ruffling his curly black hair in a comforting gesture. There really was only one course of action.

"Captain?" There was a knock on his door and John peered anxiously into the room. Sherlock looked at him in surprise.

"Was there a problem?" he asked sharply. John should know better than to disturb him in his cabin.

"No Captain, only, the men were wondering where you were. Mrs Hudson has made a wonderful meal out of the meat we scavenged."

"What time is it?" Sherlock asked; he had been in his cabin longer than he had thought.

"Six o'clock sir."

"Really?" The captain scrambled to his feet, casting about for his coat and belt. "Will you eat with me at the captain's table tonight John?" Sherlock asked, extending a formal invitation out of properness, even though John had eaten with him every night and always would. "Lestrade and Hooper and Sawyer too," he added as an after-thought, knowing that it would be rude not to include his boatswain, ship master, and surgeon, "invite them to the table will you John, we have much to celebrate tonight."

John beamed. "Of course Captain, I take it we're not going to Tahiti?"

"No John, I'm going to catch Moriarty."


End file.
